A House Divided - Hank's Haunting
by Piscean6724
Summary: Part two of A House Divided series. The Stanley home is isn't the only house disrupted by Hank Stanley's unusual behavior. Will the A-shift of Station 51 fall apart along with their leader?
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This story is being published as a stand-alone piece but will be more enjoyable to the reader if the first story in this series (A House Divided – Chet's Cataclysm) is read first.

A House Divided – Hank's Haunting

Chapter 1

Rebecca Stanley lay curled up on the sofa, soft feminine snores escaping from her barely parted lips. The sensation of something crawling along the tender flesh at the corner of her mouth aroused her from her slumber. She swiped at the nuisance and grimaced at the stinging sensation the action caused her. Peeling open her sticky eyelids, she glanced around at the empty living room while she used her finger tips to swipe the drops of saliva that had spilled beyond her lips during her nap.

"Mmmgh," she groaned into the stillness as she pushed herself up from the striped olive green and gold sofa, sitting up for a moment while her brain kicked into gear. Her mussed up shoulder length chestnut hair lay disheveled around her shoulders; the large combs holding it back away from her face were askew. She looked at the clock and saw that it was 3:25 pm. He was at the birthday party for the little girl Chet had resuscitated last year on that horrible foggy morning. Hank had invited her to join him after the little girl's mother had left the invitation at the station a couple of weeks ago. But one look at herself in the mirror this morning and she knew she needed to stay home.

She and Hank had been sleeping in separate bedrooms for several days now. No longer was she able to tolerate his worsening behavior. She recalled leaving their bedroom in the wee hours of the morning on many occasions over the last few weeks but the last few nights, she had simply gone to bed in the guest room and left him alone. Their daughters were teenagers now and caught up in their own routines. She figured they must suspect something but neither of them asked and so she never volunteered any information, nothing other than the little white lies she had been telling recently as a preemptive strike against the questions that were sure to come from those who knew her best. How could she tell them the truth when she didn't know what the truth was anymore?

Tonight was the night she was going to ask him. She could no longer live like this; their daughters couldn't live in a house like this one had become. And even though he wouldn't admit it, Hank Stanley couldn't continue living like this much longer either.

E!

Chet Kelly spent extra time in his small bathroom grooming his hair and mustache. He wanted everything to be perfect for the party. He had only spoken to Caroline Marks a few times since she had suddenly shown up at the station two weeks ago and invited all of Station 51's A-shift to her daughter, Corrie's, third birthday party.

Chet stared into the mirror once again but his mind was reeling back in time to a foggy morning and a massive pile-up on the 405. He remembered the sounds of the young mother crying that her daughter wasn't moving beneath her. He could still feel the crunching of the broken glass and twisted metal beneath him as he crawled inside the cramped space of the brown car flipped onto its side as Roy carefully lifted up the crying woman allowing Chet to extricate her lifeless toddler trapped beneath her. He remembered lying the tiny limp form down on the asphalt looking as if she were nothing more than a life-sized doll, the shouts and cries mingling in his mind with the pale face of the tiny girl. All the while, the smell of gasoline vapors and the screeching sound of metal being sheared apart assaulted his senses. But Chet only had one goal in mind on that fateful morning; he had to perform cardiopulmonary resuscitation on the smallest victim he'd ever had to attempt to resuscitate…and he had to do it by himself. All the other men from multiple stations were busy performing their own rescues leaving him with the harrowing job of child CPR. He recalled counting his chest compressions then using his own lungs to breathe life back into the tiny child. His determination kept him going for an unknown amount of time until the prettiest little dark eyes he'd ever seen fluttered back to life. He felt her faint pulse and shallow breathing while her mother's woeful cries of joy spoke for them both. _She's alive! She's alive! _ He allowed the echoes to fade back into a memory he would cherish forever as the present day nudged its way back into his realty.

The memory was one of the moments that would always define Chet's career as a firefighter. But today was a day to celebrate Corrie Marks' future. She was turning three years old and according to her mother, Chet was the reason she was alive. He still found it difficult to take credit for saving the child's life and instead, always reaffirmed to Caroline that it was a joint effort from the entire station. She usually acknowledged her agreement but he could tell that she was still grateful for what he'd done for them that day. One day, he hoped he might be able to share with her what that rescue had done for him but today was all about Corrie.

Chet flipped off the light switch and reached for the lavender box with the deep purple ribbon attached. He hoped he'd chosen a good gift for Corrie. He had no experience in selecting toys for little girls and this was one very special little girl. He picked up the box and walked out the door headed across the sidewalk to the second apartment on the bottom floor. This was going to be the first time he had been inside Caroline's apartment even though they had chatted a few times by phone. It was during those night time talks that he'd learned so much about Caroline Marks and so far, he really liked what he knew.

Caroline Marks had been in the early stages of her pregnancy with her first child when her husband, Corey Marks, had been killed in Vietnam. She'd suffered through the remainder of her pregnancy without the man she loved and six months later she'd given birth to a healthy baby girl. The golden haired child looked a lot like her mother but she had her father's dark eyes, or so Caroline had confided to Chet during one of their talks. She had named her daughter Corrine but chose to call her Corrie in honor of the father she never met. She had warned Chet and the rest of the men from 51's that Corrie was a bit shy around men being reared without a male presence in her home but for whatever reason, the precocious toddler had taken to Chet immediately…and the Irishman loved it.

Caroline and Corrie moved into the apartment across from Chet after she was released from the hospital. Due to her back injury, she required a ground floor apartment and fate provided what she needed near the man she now considered to be her hero. Over the past few months, she had been faithfully doing her exercises and stretches and other than a slight limp and some minor twinges of pain, she was doing well. Her physicians had been amazed at her recovery as well as that of her daughter. Corrie, had no residual effects from the near-fatal accident and every day Caroline looked at her, she rejoiced in the miracle that was Corrie Marks. Now, she was finally going to get to share this special day with some very special people in their lives. She had invited the A-shift from Station 51 and it had sounded as though at least some of them might come. Her in-laws were making the three hour drive to be there for their granddaughter's special day. They were still a big part of Caroline and Corrie's lives and for that she would be eternally grateful. Her own parents were deceased and so she still looked to Mr. and Mrs. Marks for advice on parenting and many other things. Even though their son was gone, a part of him would always be alive in his daughter.

Caroline looked around at the table with the cake and chips on it and repositioned the decorations so that everything was perfect. She double checked the punch in her freezer and was pleased that it was quite slushy then she headed back to Corrie's room to brush the toddler's hair one last time before her guests began to arrive.

She had just cinched Corrie's white bow in her hair when she heard a knock on her front door.

"That might be Grammy and Pop, Corrie. Let's go see."

The two of them laughingly made their way down the hallway and were all smiles when she pulled open her front door.

"Mizzer Fet," Corrie squealed at the top of her lungs reaching up to the grinning lineman.

"Well, hello there ladybug," Chet crooned reaching down for the little girl and hoisting her up in his arms. He looked back over at Caroline and nearly lost his breath at her stunning natural beauty. "And..uh…hello to you too, Caroline."

"Hi Chet…I'm so glad you could come," she smiled welcomingly as she stepped back away from the doorway. "Please come on in."

He stepped across the threshold and allowed the squirming child to slide down from his grasp. She had spotted the gift he was carrying and giggled in delight.

"Dat my birfday pe-zent?"

Chet gave Caroline a little wink then knelt down in front of the jumping child. "Well, lemme see," he began peeking beneath the ribbon as if searching for a name. "It says here that this is for the prettiest little girl in the world. Now, is that you?"

Corrie clapped her hands together and nodded her head.

"Ok and it says here," he said emphasizing the other side. "That it's only for the sweetest little girl in the world. Is that you?"

Again, the child couldn't contain her excitement and began to dance around him in a sort of childish marching motion.

"And it says right here in the middle that it's for the most special little girl in the world who is turning three years old today." He looked at her widening his eyes as if in surprise. "Are you three years old today, ladybug?"

"Yea!" She clapped then struggled to hold up three pudgy fingers and reached for the present.

"Hold on there, Corrie. We have to wait until everyone gets here before you open it."

Chet watched as the little girl lowered her face, poking out her bottom lip as she promptly sat down on the floor in the middle of the room, pouting. He saw the look Caroline had on her face and knew that perhaps his services were needed in a different type of rescue this time. He plopped himself down in front of Corrie and crossed his legs. He propped his elbows on his knees and rested his chin in his hands. He waited as Corrie watched him with the inquiring look of wonder only a child can possess. She drew her faint dark blonde eyebrows together in curiosity wondering why a grown man was behaving like a child. He continued to stare at her dark eyes, mimicking her position, and then slowly allowed a snicker to escape from beneath his mustache. Soon it was followed by another stifled giggle as his face reddened a bit. He twitched his mouth a little causing his mustache to wiggle as he exaggerated his efforts to restrain his laughter. This tiny bit of movement resulted in a loud round of high pitched giggles from the guest of honor and soon the two of them were rolling in laughter just as another knock sounded at the front door.

E!

Hank stopped by the toy store on his way to Corrie's birthday party. He was beginning to regret that he'd accepted the invitation. He walked aimlessly down aisle after aisle of suitable toys for a three year old as his mind took him back to the time when he was a young father of two small daughters. He could almost hear their giggles and see their flowing dark hair hanging in soft curls down their backs as they walked these same aisles. The misty memories moved on to moments he'd shared pushing them on the swings at the park near their home. _Higher, Daddy, higher! _He could still hear their young voices squealing with delight as he pushed the swings a little harder; the sensation of the soft cotton fabric of their matching outfits rubbing across his palms as he pushed first Melissa with his right hand and then her younger sister Victoria with his left made him want to dig deeper into the memory and hug them tightly, never letting them grow up. The memory of the butterfly wispiness of their hair streaming across his lower arms with each push sent shivers down his spine.

Then the reality of his situation came crashing down on him as harshly as a roof collapsing after a fire has eaten away its support walls. Kyle Carrigan had been only a few months away from joining his life with the woman he loved. Hank wondered to himself if their marriage might have resulted in Kyle also enjoying the bonds of a father/daughter relationship had the young man's life not been snuffed out too soon.

Station 51 had been the first to arrive on scene that night nearly a month ago and as was the protocol, Hank assumed the role of incident commander. He had given the orders directing his men and those from two other stations, including their paramedics, to man hoses and attack the inferno. He had just made the decision to change tactics when an explosion ripped through the night…and unknowingly tore his own sanity apart at the seams. The outcome of that fateful night left one firefighter deceased, another critically injured and one of his own committing an act that should have left him banned from the department for life. Firefighter Kelly, with the help of his crew mates, had been restored to the fold of Station 51's A-shift against Hank's better judgment. Paramedic Jacobs would survive and in all likelihood would one day return to the fire service after a lengthy recovery. But it was the face of Paramedic Kyle Carrigan that haunted Hank every minute of every day.

He squeezed his eyes closed slowing his breathing down and calming his rapid heartbeat. When he dared to open them again, he found that he had wandered away from the girls toys and was standing in front of a plastic replica of a 1930's model antique fire truck. "Damn it," he mumbled, looking sheepishly around him afterwards grateful that no young children had heard his foul language.

From the adjacent aisle, Hank heard a small voice that sounded familiar and then an adult voice he recognized.

"Look, Mommy…let's get her a Mrs. Beasley doll like mine," the small voice called out.

"Jennifer, I think that's a good choice, don't you Chris?"

Hank scrubbed his face briskly with the palm of his hand then hurriedly rushed empty handed out the door. He really did not want to run into the family of one of his men in a toy store when his mind was elsewhere. He was in no mood for celebrating. There was only one place he wanted to be at the moment and it wasn't at a birthday party for a three year old girl.

On the opposite side of the parking lot, Roy DeSoto watched as the tall fire captain rushed from the entrance of the store without making a purchase. He watched as Hank got in his car and turned right out of the parking lot. Obviously, the captain had a different destination in mind. "Cap?" The paramedic questioned softly inside his vehicle as his blue eyes followed the rapidly departing black sedan. He wanted to follow the man but his wife and children were inside the store picking out a present for the little girl they had never met and he had promised Corrie that he would come to her birthday party and bring his kids. Roy was a man of honor and knew that a promise had to be upheld but as a father himself, he knew this was especially true when that promise was made to a small child. Now he sat waiting in the parking lot and hoping that he would have a chance to speak privately to his superior at some point in the near future. Captain Stanley had not been the same man since the fire that had cost Kyle Carrigan his life. The change had been abrupt and Roy thought he understood why. He just hoped he could intervene before Hank did something he would forever regret.

E!


	2. Chapter 2

Warning: strong language

Hank's Haunting

Chapter – 2

Chet and Corrie were giggling uncontrollably as he tickled the previously pouting three year old when she squealed with joy then scrambled out of his arms.

"Gwammy!" she rejoiced bounding toward the open door and into the arms of a middle-aged woman with blondish gray hair. The older woman wore a huge smile on her face as she knelt down to take her grandchild into her open arms.

Chet felt a bit foolish sitting cross-legged on the floor, especially when his eyes met the stern disapproving expression on the older man's face; a man he could only assume was the father of Caroline's late husband. He felt his face redden in embarrassment as he stood up from the floor and offered his hand to Mr. Marks as introductions were made.

"Mom and Dad Marks, I'd like for you to meet Firefighter Chester Kelly. He's the one I told you about when we were in the hospital…remember?" Caroline was not immune to the glare her father-in-law had given her new friend. "Chet, these are my in-laws…Gregory and Miriam Marks. Better known as Pop and Grammy, right Corrie?" Caroline hoped her introduction and the inclusion of Corrie into the uncomfortable conversation might ease the tension.

The older man looked down at Chet's outstretched hand and firmly accepted it; a little too firmly for Chet as he tried not to wince from the strong grip.

"You can call me Chet." The younger man said with a nod of his head as they shook hands but he couldn't help noticing the vein bulging slightly around the graying temple of the older man. He tried not to take it personally as he knew the man had lost his son but he still felt a bit uneasy in the presence of Mr. Marks.

"And I'm Mim…or Grammy, whichever you prefer," Miriam closed the slight distance between them ignoring Chet's outstretched hand and enveloping him within her embrace. "Thank you isn't enough for what you did for us last year," she spoke softly into his ear and immediately felt the young man relax his tense muscles.

"Ahem, yes, I also want to thank you for saving them," Gregory said sincerely even though his facial expressions didn't quite match his words of gratitude. "They mean everything to us; I'm sure you understand that," he continued, once again staring into Chet's blue eyes with his own deep dark orbs. "We'd do anything necessary to keep them safe," he said emphasizing the word 'anything' and making sure that Chet understood his meaning. "So, we're glad you were there for them…on that day."

Chet gulped; he could almost hear Gregory's unspoken message – glad Chet was there a year ago but not glad that he was here now. The nervous fireman suddenly felt warm in the otherwise cool setting of the apartment. He was still unsure of how to respond to such accolades but then again, he wasn't sure whether Greg Marks' words were an actual expression of gratitude or a thinly veiled threat. Relief flooded his soul when he heard another knock and recognized the young family standing in the open doorway.

"Ahem, oh…Hiya, Roy…Jo…my how your little ones are growing," he stumbled nervously as he rushed to greet the surprised DeSoto clan.

Roy lifted his eyebrows trying hard not to laugh at the uncharacteristic greeting they were receiving from his shiftmate. "Yea…hi…are you ok?"

"Oh, great, swell, never better…say, Mr. and Mrs. Marks, this is my good friend, Roy DeSoto and his wife Joann and their two children Jennifer and Chris." Chet's voice sounded a bit high pitched and rushed so he cleared his throat and continued on before anyone else could say anything. "Ahem, yea…Roy here's one of the best paramedic's in the state and he's the man who saved Caroline's life that day."

Roy dipped his head slightly at his grandiose introduction by the perspiring lineman. "Very nice to meet you both. Uh, Chet's kind of exagger…"

"He's so modest, unlike his partner," Chet interrupted. "Now if Gage were here he'd be talkin' about…oh by the way DeSoto…where is that wayward partner of yours?" Chet felt as if he were still being scrutinized by Mr. Marks so he wrapped his arm around Roy as though they were best buddies and ushered him away from the older couple.

As soon as they were out of hearing range of the others, Roy slid out from beneath Chet's arm. "What the hell's wrong with you?" he whispered through gritted teeth.

Chet rubbed his hands together then ran his fingers through his curly dark hair. "Roy, man…that guy hates me!" He leaned slightly to his right so he could watch the older man and sure enough, Greg was looking at him. "He's staring at me now. I..I..whaddo I do?" Chet whispered back in a voice full of desperation.

"Well for starters you quit acting so paranoid. That's why he's staring at you!"

Chet shifted from one foot to the other. "I'm not paranoid…I'm just wonderin' why he hates me when he just met me!"

"Yea, Kelly…that's not being paranoid at all," Roy deadpanned then turned his back on his worried friend and walked over to greet Caroline and Corrie.

"Hello there, Corrie. How's the birthday girl?" He patted the little girl on the head then looked up at Caroline. "Nice to see you again. Have you met my wife, Joann?"

Across the room Chet pretended to be looking at the birthday cake as he carefully watched Greg waltz smugly into the kitchen and pour himself a cup of coffee. He saw the older man fill up two other cups before turning back to Chet. "I hear firemen like coffee…how about a cup, Chester?"

Chet swallowed uncontrollably at the use of his formal name, already feeling tiny rivulets of sweat drifting down from his temples. He knew that a cup of coffee would only make him hotter but then again, he didn't want to do anything to upset Mr. Marks and ruin the birthday party either. "Uh, ahua," he coughed into his closed fist. "Yea, sure…love a cup," he said wondering if perhaps the other man might throw the scalding liquid into his face as he eased into the kitchen.

"Roy, Joanne? Care for some coffee?" Greg asked innocently, realizing he had just upped Chet's anxiety level.

"None for me, thanks," Joanne said sweetly then returned to her conversation with Caroline and Mim.

"Sure, I'd like a cup," Roy mentioned heading into the kitchen.

Chet felt a sudden urge to remove the steaming cups from Mr. Marks' reach and quickly scooped them up in his hands preparing to offer one to Roy when he inadvertently bumped into Mr. Marks' elbow and spilled hot coffee on the man's forearm.

"Ohmygod, shi…uh,…I mean shoot, geez…oww, um…I'm so sorry, I'm…I…uh." Chet stammered as he wiggled around the tense injured man. His own lap had caught enough of the hot liquid to make him squirm in discomfort as the heat penetrated the fabric of his pants and boxers stinging the tender flesh beneath. He was so caught up in his unintended dance that he missed the smirk on Greg's face when the older man saw where the rest of the coffee had landed.

Greg, on the other hand, did not miss the narrow eyed glare he was getting from his wife. "Um, it's…it's ok, Chester. Ah, are you ok?"

Roy grimaced at Chet and quickly pulled open the freezer door of the refrigerator removing an ice tray. He held it over the sink and pulled back on the metal lever releasing the frozen cubes then set about preparing an ice pack for the older man's burned forearm.

"Need an ice pack, Chet?" Roy asked with a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

"No, I'm uh, gonna, ah…I'll be baa…back in a bit," Chet stuttered as he tried unsuccessfully to make a graceful exit.

"Mizzer Fet, pee pee," Corrie announced loudly, pointing at the wet stain near his crotch.

"Sshhh, Corrie…he spilled his coffee that's all," Mim explained to the child as she once again gave her husband an evil eye. "He'll be right back after he changes his clothes."

"Uh, yea…I'm…see ya in a few," he said rushing out the front door never noticing Marco walking up the sidewalk.

Marco gave a quick knock on the front door which Roy happened to be standing near.

"I'll get it, Caroline," he offered reaching for the door knob, happy to welcome in another member of the crew.

"Uh, DeSoto?" Marco began as he entered the apartment jerking his thumb back across his shoulder in the direction of Chet's apartment.

"Don't ask, Marco…just don't ask."

E!

Rebecca Stanley patted the make-up sponge repeatedly across the corner of her mouth, wincing with each soft touch. She gingerly pulled up on her swollen upper lip and saw the damage her teeth had inflicted. She allowed her tongue to slip along the edge further exploring her injury as she took a long look into the mirror…not at all liking the face that looked back at her. She reached for the small opaque bottle of Visine, tilting her head and squeezing a couple of drops into each red-rimmed eye then closing her lids tightly in response to the stinging the drops caused. She needed to look her best for Hank when he returned from the birthday party. She neither wanted to put undue stress on him nor give him any reason to refuse their talk later on. This was much too important for the future of their family.

E!

Hank tried to focus his eyes on the television set above the bar but he wasn't seeing anything interesting on the small screen and so he pulled out his cigarettes, tapped one out and lit up. The bartender had been eyeing him suspiciously then looked beyond the haggard man to the older waitress slipping up behind him. She locked eyes with the bartender giving him a silent signal that she would handle this particular patron.

Glenda was the widow of a former Los Angeles County Fire Department Captain and had begun working at Cinders shortly after his death. She needed the extra income but mainly she needed to stay in touch with the brotherhood that frequented the establishment. The décor of the place matched the name and various items related to the profession of the fire service adorned the walls. She had seen many men debrief after a bad run by sitting around the establishment, commiserating with each other. She had also seen many men drown there sorrows when things were not going well in their life – either personally or professionally…sometimes both. She recognized the appearance of Captain Stanley and she knew immediately that he fell into the latter category on this particular afternoon.

Glenda emptied out the ashtray a few seats down from where Hank sat alone then wiped it out with a rag and pushed it near the thin hand that held the smoldering cigarette. "How ya doin' Cap'n Stanley?"

"Oh, fine…how's m' fa'orite waitress?" He asked slurring a bit, trying to sound upbeat but only succeeding in sounding drunk. He'd consumed five gin and tonics over the course of about an hour and a half without eating and had just ordered another when Glenda walked up.

"I'm doin' great…but I don't think you are, Cap. Wanna talk about it?"

He took a long drag from his cigarette enjoying the burning sensation in his lungs then exhaled the smoke just as the bartender delivered his next drink. He took a tentative sip then nodded his head negatively. "Nah…nothin's wrong with me. Nothin' a' all."

She gently rested a manicured hand on his shoulder. "You can't lie to me. I've seen that forlorn look a thousand times in this joint and I know exactly what it means." She looked around at the semi-crowded bar then back at the disheveled appearance of her customer. "C'mon, Hank. Let me call someone to come and get you."

The bartender nodded his head then turned to his next customer.

"Nope…ain't quite time t'go home yet," he mumbled trying to focus on his watch.

"Well, it sure isn't time for another drink. Lemme get you a cup of coffee or something. Gonna be a while before you can drive." She gently pushed herself off the bar stool beside her friend and headed into the back.

Hank, meanwhile, picked up his glass and gulped down the rest of the drink before Glenda had a chance to return and dispose of it for him. He pulled another drag from his cigarette and drunkenly tried to blow smoke rings into the dingy air. After a few failed attempts he crushed out the cigarette in the clean black ashtray just as a white cup full of steaming black coffee appeared in front of him.

"Drink it up, Cap. I'm not gonna let you leave here like this."

Hank looked up at the serious expression on Glenda's face. "You can't stop me lit-tle lady," he hiccupped unflatteringly.

The serious expression on Glenda's face remained as stoic as ever. She leaned across the bar slightly to make sure her friend was both seeing her face and hearing her words. "Like hell I can't, Hank Stanley. You walk out of here in this condition and I promise you I'll have LAPD pulling you over before you can make it a block away from here."

Hank drew his bushy eyebrows together as the realization of just how serious she was finally penetrated the harsh exterior of the stupor he found himself in. No woman had ever threatened him before and while a part of him wanted to laugh uncontrollably, another part was beginning to feel angry. "You wouldn't do 'at t'me. I c'drive a' engine wi' no s'eep, damn it wo-man," he growled pointing his finger at Glenda.

"Maybe so…but you damn sure won't be driving home drunk. Now either give me your keys and I'll take you home or I'm gonna call a cab. But I won't knowingly let the department lose another captain in a traffic accident and I won't let you hurt somebody else either, Hank." Glenda relaxed her stance a bit seeing Mack, her bartender, watching the exchange from the other end of the bar. In the quagmire of his mind, Hank remembered that her husband had died in an automobile accident a few years earlier.

Hank slid off his stool in a futile attempt to stand up; his elbow catching on the edge of the bar spared him the embarrassment of falling on the floor. He looked at Glenda through his unusually long bangs and felt his nostrils flare in frustration. "Who tol' you? Some g'damn boot been in 'ere talkin' 'bout me?"

His response caught the waitress off guard. "Nobody told me anything; I can tell you're drunk by the way you're acting and talking and if I let you leave here and you crash your car into a tree or somebody else's car then it'll be my fault and I won't do it. Now…keys, cab or cops?" She questioned.

"None o' the 'bove," he spouted off, pushing off the bar again and feeling the room sway.

"Alright, cops it is," Glenda said loud enough for Mack to overhear as she reached for the black rotary phone hanging on the wall behind her.

Mack sauntered down the length of the bar making sure that the drunken patron saw him. He and Glenda had played this game many times before and they were usually successful without employing outside assistance.

Hank saw the larger man stepping closer to him and even though the booze told him he could take him on in a fight, the few brain cells he was currently using persuaded him to back down just a bit. He saw the bottled blonde ponytail of his favorite waitress swishing as she tilted her head trapping the receiver between her right ear and shoulder, turning enough to allow Hank to hear what she was saying. "Hello, this is Glenda down at Cinders…"

"A'right! A'right!"

Glenda turned around at the sound of the gruff voice behind her knowing that Hank was acquiescing to her demands. "Excuse me," she said turning sideways so as to make eye contact with the captain. "Did you say something, Hank?"

"I said…a'right…I'll wa-wait a li'l while 'fore I go," he said lowering his voice as well as his head.

Glenda hung up the phone; she had been listening to the ringing sound of her own home telephone anyway. She didn't want Hank to have a police record any more than she wanted him to be the cause of a traffic accident. She had known that Mack was certainly capable of restraining him until she actually did call the police had he needed to but she felt a sense of relief wash over her when she realized it wasn't going to be necessary.

"Very well," she said offering a hint of a smile. "I'll get you another round of coffee while you wait."

E!

"It was very nice meeting all of you," Joann DeSoto said in her most pleasant voice. She truly had enjoyed getting to know Caroline while watching their daughters enjoying playing with each other. She knew that Chris had felt a bit out of place but he had been a trooper, pretending to be enthusiastic about the girly toys he was offered by his miniature hostess.

"I'm so glad you all came to share this special day with us and," Caroline dipped her head fighting back the mistiness, "and I'm grateful that Roy, Chet and the rest of the men were on duty that day."

Joanne smiled lovingly at her husband, hooking her arm into the crook of his elbow. "I'm very proud of my man." She threw him a green-eyed wink then returned her gaze to Caroline. "Maybe you and I can get together sometime and do some shopping or maybe let the girls have a play date." She looked down with pride at Jennifer who was helping Corrie pick up the discarded wrapping paper under the direction of Miriam. "Or, if you ever need a sitter for anything just give me a call. Our girls seem to get along great," she hid her smile seeing the smitten look on Chet's face. Joanne was an observant woman and she had seen the looks Chet and Caroline had been sharing during the party.

"I just might take you up on that offer," she grinned.

Marco and Roy shook hands with Gregory and politely acknowledged their pleasure at meeting him as well as Miriam.

"I'm so glad you invited me…had a good time, Caroline."

"Thank you Mr. Lopez…er, Marco," she corrected. "I'm so thankful for your part in allowing us to celebrate this day. And I really appreciate your sharing it with us."

Behind them, Miriam was chastising her husband. "You should be ashamed of yourself, Greg. He seems like a nice young man and he DID save our granddaughter's life," she scolded.

Greg grimaced beneath the heat of her voice. "I know, Mim…I know but…"

"Listen, I saw it too and I had the same thought but…well, Corey's death wasn't his fault."

Gregory dropped his eyes downward nodding his agreement. Walking into what should have been his son's apartment and seeing his granddaughter laughing and playing in the lap of another man was more than he could take. He exhaled loudly. "I just wish he could be here…he should be here, Mim…it isn't fair."

"I don't like it either but…but we can't change it. And Caroline deserves to be happy again and…," Mim sniffed. "And Corrie needs a father. It's gonna happen one day…we might as well accept that."

Gregory nodded his agreement, albeit slowly. He finally looked into his wife's beautiful face. "I'll try, Mim…I promise."

Roy walked out of the apartment behind his wife and children and just ahead of his shiftmate. As the small group made their way down the sidewalk toward the parking lot, Roy turned around and spoke in a subdued tone. "Any idea why Cap didn't make it?"

Marco shrugged his shoulders. "No…he said he'd be here. I knew Johnny and Mike had other plans but I really thought Cap and Mrs. Stanley were coming."

Roy slowed his steps down allowing the distance between himself and his family to lengthen a little more. "Listen, you got a few minutes? I'd really like to talk to you about something I saw today…if you don't mind."

Marco grimaced beneath his dark mustache and narrowed his eyes slightly. "Cap?"

"Yea."

"Sure, just get Joanne to drive home and then we can go somewhere to discuss it if you'd like," the older man offered.

Roy slapped his friend on the shoulder. "Thanks, Marco." He picked up the pace and spoke to Joanne as the kids seated themselves in the back seat. As he watched he saw Joanne kiss Roy on the cheek then step around to the driver's side of the car.

"Ok, you ready?" Roy asked as he walked back up the sidewalk to the place where his friend stood waiting.

"Sure, should we include Chet," Marco asked turning slightly around and seeing the door of Caroline's apartment opening again.

"Nah," Roy grinned. "I think he's kind of enjoying his time with Caroline."

"He may be but I don't think Greg likes it any."

"Yea, well…let's let them work it out. I'd rather not involve anybody else until I know what's going on." Roy glanced over Marco's shoulder and saw that Greg and Miriam were exiting the apartment with Corrie holding their hands and walking between them on their way to the playground.

Chet waved timidly to his two shiftmates as he and Caroline walked side by side following the older couple in the direction of the playground. He had no idea what the two men were talking about and he honestly didn't care. Right now, his only concern was spending more time with Caroline…and trying to somehow repair the damaged first impression he'd made on Gregory Marks.

E!

Marco and Roy slammed their doors simultaneously as they sat down in Marco's burgundy Buick.

"Ok, Desoto…where to?"

Roy exhaled loudly as he tried to decide what to tell his lineman. "Let's go ride by Cap's house and see if he's there," he began. "And I'll explain why I'm so concerned."

As the two men were on their way to the other side of town, Roy filled Marco in on the scene he'd witnessed from the parking lot of the toy store. By the time they turned onto the street the Stanley's lived on, Marco too was worried. Hank was always a man of his word so for him to tell someone he was going to do something and then fail to follow through was simply unheard of. The fact that Roy had seen him leave hurriedly and turn in a direction away from not only the party but also away from his home was even more concerning.

"Roy...he hasn't been acting like himself for several weeks now. Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

Roy looked around the perimeter of the Stanley residence as Marco slowed down while passing by. "His car isn't there so…yea…yea, I am."

Marco pulled to a stop at the stop sign at the end of the street. He flipped on his blinker then looked both ways before pulling out making the sweeping left turn, his heart beating in time to the rapid clicking of the blinker. "On my way," he mumbled knowing that they both had an idea of where their leader might be yet hoping they would be wrong.

E!

A/N: Thank you so much for the support you've shown through PM's and reviews. It helps to know what the readers are thinking so that I can make the necessary adjustments in subsequent chapters. I appreciate you!


	3. Chapter 3

Warning: strong language

A House Divided – Hank's Haunting

Chapter 3

Even though Hank was halfway through his second cup of coffee, the alcohol in his system was still overwhelming the caffeine. Glenda saw his head nodding from where it rested in his palm and feared he would soon fall off the stool on which he was precariously perched; the only thing holding him upright was his elbow propped on the bar. She gently shook his thin shoulders arousing him from his nap.

"Uh, wha…?" His slurring voice was cut short by the smacking of his dry lips. Hank looked up and to his right where eventually the worried expression of a familiar face came into focus.

"C'mon, Captain. We need to get you home before your wife gets worried about you."

"Humph…she pro'ly would rather…I s'ay here but…I…can d'ive now."

Glenda couldn't stop the snicker bubbling in the back of her throat. "Oh, I have no doubt you can dive. It's your DRIVING I'm worried about. Now, you want me to call someone or would you rather take a cab?"

Hank straightened up using one hand to scrub the sleep from his face as he became more alert to his surroundings. "Ah…lemme take a piss…then," his reddened face gave away his embarrassment for his language in front of a lady. "Sorry…then I'll call so'body." Hank stood up, carefully holding on to the bar and using it to ambulate slowly and haphazardly towards the nearby men's restroom.

E!

Marco sat impatiently at the light; his nervous fingers tapped out a cadence from some long forgotten song. As the light turned green and he released the pressure on the break, he finally spoke to his silent passenger. "If he is there…what are we going to do?"

Roy leaned his head back against the headrest before he responded. "I guess we'll go in and make sure he's ok. Maybe, just act like we decided to have a few beers or something."

Marco nodded in agreement as he approached the turn he was looking for. The L-shaped parking lot of Cinders was sparsely populated as it was still early for the drinking crowd. He turned in and slowly began perusing the rows dotted with vehicles. After a few moments, the two men spotted the black sedan they had been searching for.

"Well…you were right, DeSoto." He pulled his Buick into the parking space beside Hank's car and shifted into park. "Now what?" He asked turning to his friend.

Roy stared out the side window at the car he had feared would be here. "Well…we don't confront him, that's for sure." He heard the slight groan of agreement from Marco and then he continued. "I guess we just each order a beer and act surprised to see him. If he's alright then we can leave whenever we're ready."

"And if he's not?" Marco asked too quickly.

"I haven't thought that far ahead yet," Roy answered honestly then turned to his left. "Ready?"

"As I'll ever be," Marco agreed opening his door and following the red haired paramedic toward the entrance.

E!

Hank reached the bathroom door and pushed through it with a bit more force than necessary. The action landed him in the chest of a rather large dark young man who thankfully kept him from landing on his face on the bathroom floor.

"Whoa, you a'right?" the man asked realizing that the older man who had just bumped into him was struggling to remain vertical.

Hank patted the man on the chest in a grateful gesture then looked up into his ebony eyes. He could feel his own blood shot eyes jerking within their sockets as he tried to focus on the man, hoping he didn't know him. "P, parden me," he belched out.

"Man, you better cool it or the fuzz will be all over you. Don't wanna end up in the slammer when ya leave here," the big man huffed.

"Yea, thanks pal," Hank managed to say as the two stepped around each other. He assumed his usual stance at the urinal, unzipping his pants and leaning one hand against the wall to steady himself as he finally found some relief for his aching bladder.

Roy and Marco both scanned the inside of the foggy establishment as they meandered up to the bar. There were a few guys shooting pool and a couple others were involved in a serious game of darts. A few others in various locations were watching a college football game on television. Both firemen from 51's were aware of the private rooms in the back that were often reserved for special celebrations but they could tell that the rooms were not in use this afternoon.

"What'll ya have?"

Roy looked up at the bartender and ordered two draft beers while Marco continued to look around. As the older man behind the bar pulled two cold mugs out and began filling them, Roy decided to ask him the question both he and Marco were trying to answer. "Uh, we're looking for a friend of ours who's supposed to be here. He's got short dark hair, tall and…and I believe he might be wearing a tan shirt."

Before the bartender could answer, a man on a stool nearby spoke up. "Sounds like the skinny white cat that ran into me in the bathroom," the man said from behind the rim of his glass.

Marco spun around having heard the exchange. "Is he still in there?" He asked just as a frothy mug was placed in front of him.

"Probably…might need help gettin' out, man," he said smirking lightly as he watched the two new arrivals exchange concerned looks.

"Thank you," Roy offered as he took a long drink.

Marco leaned against the bar propping one hip on the stool nearest him. "Think we ought to go in there?"

"Let's give him a minute," Roy stated, looking at the gray door with the word "MEN" written in red letters on it.

Moments later, a disheveled Hank Stanley stumbled out of the restroom door staggering along the wall until he was close enough to reach out for the bar. He was trying to sit on a stool when Glenda walked up behind him, anchoring him with a hand on his elbow.

"Alright, sugar. Now, who do you want me to call?"

Roy was sitting closer to Hank than was Marco and he happened to overhear enough of the conversation to realize what was happening. He tapped Marco with the back of his hand then slipped off the stool and stepped over to the end of the bar.

"Ma'am…my friend and I know him and we'll take care of him."

Glenda looked confusingly at Roy trying to remember where she'd seen him before.

Hank looked to his left squinting his eyes in Roy's general direction. "DeS-Soto?" He slurred.

"Yea, Cap. Lopez and I came in here for a drink but ah, it looks like maybe we need to get you home," Roy offered shifting his eyes between Glenda and Hank.

Marco made his way over to the end of the bar and Glenda finally recognized the men once she saw them both together with their captain. She couldn't remember their names but she did remember seeing them with Hank a few times. "A'right, Captain…you're gonna go with your men or else I'm calling a cab. Now which will it be?"

"Sonofabitch…you busted me," he rubbed his irritated eyes not realizing how loud he was talking.

"We're not here to bust you, Cap. But, it looks like maybe you had a little too much to drive home yourself so let me drive your car and Marco can follow us. Then he can take me home." Roy hoped his plan was sinking into the brain of their inebriated superior.

Hank looked up at Glenda then over at his two men. There was no way he was going to get away from the three of them as they stood staring at him. He suddenly felt small; a feeling he hadn't had since before his growth spurt in junior high that shot him up taller than the other boys by a few inches. Finally, he acquiesced. "Why not," he said reaching for his wallet. "Wha's the damage, Mack?"

After paying up, Roy and Marco flanked their captain and helped him stand up. "Thanks," Marco said to the blonde waitress.

"Take care of him, fellas," she said wistfully. _Captains are special men, _she thought to herself remembering the burden her own husband carried for many years until his death. The burden she could see in Hank Stanley's eyes now.

Roy pulled Hank's arm over his shoulder and smiled at the concerned waitress. "Yes, ma'am…we will."

Once the trio had made their way across the parking lot, they leaned the drunken man against the passenger's side of his car while Roy waited for him to dig his keys out of his jeans pocket. As soon as he had taken possession of the keys, he and Marco eased Hank into the passenger's seat and closed the door. They stood staring at the ground briefly. "I'll follow you, DeSoto."

"Yea, ok. I don't…I don't even know where to start trying to explain this to Mrs. Stanley," Roy said running a hand through his thinning hair.

"Well, we don't have to explain anything," Marco said with a serious expression on his handsome features. "Cap does."

E!

Rebecca kept staring at the clock wondering if perhaps it had stopped running. Time was passing by much too slowly for her as she waited for her husband to get home. She was nervous about the conversation she intended to have and yet she knew she no longer had a choice. Their situation wasn't getting any better. In fact, it seemed to be getting worse. She turned off the oven allowing the pot roast and potatoes to remain inside so they would stay warm. She turned off the right front eye on the stove and covered the boiler with a lid so the cabbage would stay warm as long as possible. She then glanced once more at the wall clock and went to sit down and wait.

E!

"How's the party, 'oy?"

Roy backed out of the parking lot turning in the direction of the Stanley residence. "It was real nice, Cap. Wish you'd've been there," Roy said risking a fleeting glance at his passenger.

Hank leaned his head against the window and held his eyes closed. The alcohol in his system was mucking up his thought processes preventing him from giving Roy a convincing lie. "Cou'n't make it. Busy."

Roy's anger was returning with a vengeance. Hank had lied not only to Caroline but to little Corrie too. In Roy's mind, that was inexcusable, especially in his current condition. "Yea, I noticed how busy you were back at Cinders. Hard work holding the bar up like that."

"Don' ge' a smart mouth wi' me, DeSoto. I'm your Cap'n," Hank slurred, never opening his eyes.

Roy was normally able to control his temper. It was a skill he had been practicing for as long as he and Johnny had been partners. The junior paramedic frequently let his mouth override his brain which often left Roy being the level headed more sensible of the two. But tonight, he could almost feel himself switching places with his partner as the tiny ember of irritation that had ignited in his belly quickly grew into a raging inferno within his soul. Against, his better judgment, he opened his mouth and did something he never ever did with his superior; he gave the older man a piece of his mind.

"You may be my captain at 51's but right now I'm not your paramedic. No, right now you're nothing but a lying drunk and I'm your designated driver…Hank!" He emphasized his point by calling the captain by his first name.

At the sound of his name, Hank jerked his eyes open and raised his head upright. "Whadda hell'd ya call me?"

Roy flipped on his blinker with a quick swipe of his hand, not daring to look his superior in the eye. "You heard me, Hank. I'll call you Cap whenever we're on the job OR whenever you're deserving of the title…neither of which you are right now."

Roy's words echoed inside Hank's drunken mind merging with his own self-recrimination from the last few weeks. His senior paramedic no longer thought he was worthy of the title of captain, something he had been struggling with himself since this whole nightmare began. It suddenly dawned on him why Roy had taken on this newfound attitude of his – Roy knew the truth. "Stop!" Hank growled through gritted teeth.

"Nope, we're almost at your house," Roy said; the venting episode finally beginning to relieve his frustration, at least a little bit.

"I said, s'op da damn car NOW!" Hank emphasized his command with a punch toward the dashboard causing Roy to flinch nervously. Luckily for both Hank and the car, his reflexes were way off balance and he only succeeded in landing a glancing blow.

"Cut it out!" Roy yelled back as he turned into the Stanley's driveway. He slammed the car in park pitching Hank forward then turned off the ignition. By the time he made his way around to the passenger's side of the car to help Hank out, the older man was already struggling to free himself from the confines of his own automobile.

Hank felt Roy's hands on his arms and something inside him snapped. He roughly pushed away the hands with a grunt. "Nex' time I give ya a g'damn order ya better do 's I say," he yelled, pointing a finger in Roy's face.

Without missing a beat, Roy retorted. "Next time you give me an order you better be a sober fire captain instead of some drunken fool!" He released his grip on his captain and took a step back just as Marco turned in behind them.

The headlights of Marco's car momentarily blinded their captain which only added to his inability to get out of the car successfully. Instead of standing up, he stumbled to his knees.

Roy could only stand there and watch as the older man struggled to get to his feet. He looked over at Marco who was exiting his car and the two exchanged knowing glances.

Marco had no idea what had transpired on the ride home but when he saw Hank stumble and Roy didn't try to help him, he knew that whatever had happened it had to be very bad. He didn't question Roy but instead reached down offering to give the older man a hand up. "Here Cap," he said reaching down and pulling on Hank's elbow.

"Go t' hell, Lopez." Hank's words were meant to sting and they quickly hit their mark.

Marco held both hands up in a sign of surrender and stood next to Roy; a grimace residing beneath his dark mustache. The two men watched as Hank struggled to get upright again and then turned to stumble toward his front door.

"C'mon…we can't leave Rebecca and the girls to deal with him alone like this," Roy said walking carefully behind the staggering man. He and Marco both walked to the side and slightly behind him ready to catch him should he fall. Fortunately, their services weren't needed as he somehow managed to navigate the sidewalk and the two steps leading up to his front door.

Roy lifted the keys ready to offer them to Hank when the front door suddenly opened wide.

"Hank! What on earth happened?" Rebecca stood in the shadow of the porch and looked beyond her husband to the two men who stood sullen faced behind him. "Marco…Roy…what's going on?"

"Hello Mrs. Stanly," Roy began, as Hank nudged passed his wife. "He, ah, he kinda had too much to drink so we," he turned to point at Marco. "We brought him home."

Rebecca stood there stunned at the turn of events. Her husband had left to go to a child's birthday party just a few short hours ago and now here he was drunk nearly to the point of passing out and two of his men had brought him home. "What kind of a party was this anyway?"

Hank's stomach was already beginning to protest the large amount of gin he had ingested but once he was inside the house, the smell of dinner made the protest much more pronounced. "Wha…wha's that smell," he asked swallowing back the contents of his stomach that were beginning to churn upwards.

"It's your dinner," she said turning to him just in time to see him licking his lips and gulping. "Oh no…the cabbage," she mumbled as Roy and Marco rushed passed her.

Roy was the first to notice the tell-tale signs on their captain's face. He tapped Marco, pointing inside at their superior then both men rushed inside just as Hank began to heave. "Bathroom," he said pulling the pale man down the hallway. He had been in the Stanley home enough times to know where the guest bathroom was located.

Hank wrinkled his nose as the smell of the cooked cabbage danced around with his nausea and soon he felt waves of heat washing over him just as his stomach rumbled. He began to perspire and knew immediately what was about to happen. Before he could turn towards the bathroom, two sets of hands grabbed him and rushed him down the hallway. The blinding white light of the bathroom overhead light being turned on pierced his head like arrows through his eye sockets. His knees ached as he roughly fell on them in front of the toilet. In less than a second he began to heave the burning liquid mixture of gin, tonic water, coffee and stomach acid into the porcelain basin. "Aruugh, ugh, ahua," he coughed and gagged until his stomach had nothing left to render; the episode left him dry heaving. His eyes were burning and watering from the pressure and his head felt as if it were going to explode. In the distance, he heard water running and soon felt a cold wet cloth bathing his forehead.

Roy continued running the damp cloth across Hank's brow until he thought the dry heaving had stopped. "Are you done, Cap?" he asked; his previous decision to refer to the man by his first name had been all but forgotten. He was rewarded with a simple nodding gesture. "Alright…let's get you to bed."

Roy and Marco worked together to get the wilted man to his feet; his previous verbal insults no longer being thrown about. When they finally had him standing, Roy turned around; his eyes widening in horror as the bright light from the bathroom illuminated Mrs. Stanley's face for the first time.

"Mrs. Stanley? Are, are you ok?"

Rebecca was horrified. In the turmoil, she had forgotten about her bruises and threw her hand up to cover them as best she could. "Ah, yes..yes, I'm fine…it's nothing really," she lied as she hurried down the hallway to the master bedroom and began pulling back the covers on the bed.

Marco looked at Roy with a serious look in his eyes that Roy wasn't sure how to read. He knew by the expression on his face that Marco had seen the bruises too. "C'mon….let's get him in bed."

Rebecca's breathing was much too rapid as was her speech. "Let…let's just take off his outer clothes and let him sleep in his boxers and undershirt," she suggested.

"Yes ma'am. He needs to sleep on his stomach though in case he vomits some more. Don't want him to aspirate," Roy said as he and Marco sat Hank down struggling to keep the exhausted man from falling over while they undressed him. "You ah, you might want to bring a towel in here for him to lay his head on…just in case he…he throws up again."

In short order and with minimal protesting in the form of grunts and groans from Hank, the three of them had him undressed and lying on his stomach with his face comfortably positioned on a bath towel. In no time, snores were emanating from his partially opened mouth as his dark bangs fell across his closed eyes.

"Do you want me to stay with him? I can call Joanne and let her know that I'm needed here," Roy offered. His gut was telling him not to leave Mrs. Stanley alone with her husband under these circumstances.

"No, no I appreciate it but you boys go on back home. I'll, I'll take care of him now. Thank you for driving him back. I really do appreciate it. I just don't know what could've…"

"Mrs. Stanley," Roy carefully interrupted, knowing that her nervous chatter was a diversion. He waited for her to look at him but when she didn't, he spoke up again. "Mrs. Stanley, are you sure you're ok? I can have a look at you if you'd like," he offered gesturing at her face.

Rebecca gulped then began to rapidly blink her eyes to fight back the stinging tears. She forced a smile to her face as she responded, "Oh, no that isn't necessary, really. I just, just bumped into the door frame last night on my way to the bathroom. I shouldn't have drunk that glass of milk before I went to bed." She moved away hoping that the two men believed her.

"Yes ma'am, well if you're sure you don't need us to stay," Roy left the question hanging in the air.

"That's right. I don't mind staying and helping out with him either," Marco tossed in.

"No, it'll be fine. I'll keep a close eye on him and…and if I need you I'll call you. Ok?"

"Ok, um, here's the keys," Roy said pulling Hank's key ring out of his pocket. "I, uh…I hope he feels better soon."

"Thank you, and uh…I really do appreciate you both for what you've done tonight," she said as she walked them back to the front door.

"You're welcome," they replied in unison; both men stepping into the night wondering to themselves if they had actually done enough.

E!

A/N: Thank you for continuing to read this series. I really appreciate your feedback.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Unfortunately, I've lost readers who didn't finish the story to see what was actually going on. I regret that but I have no way of contacting them to let them know because they are not logged in. No, this story isn't going to consist of six drunken escapades but I realize that is how it seems to the readers. My deepest apologies to all of you for that failure.

For those who may still be reading, I assure you that we're going back to the station in chapter five; a recognizable place with recognizable characters.

A House Divided – Hank's Haunting

Chapter 4

Rebecca sat in the antique mahogany chair in their bedroom watching her husband sleep. She was afraid to leave him alone in case he got sick again and needed her help but she was also afraid to continue sitting with him as the night wore on. Past experience had given her good reason to be fearful; the reason still evident along her upper lip. She stretched her aching legs in front of her then pulled them up into the chair. Turning sideways, she leaned her head against the floral patterned cushion closing her eyes. At least she had gotten a short nap earlier in the day because this was shaping up to be a very long night.

E!

The roaring and popping noises continued to grow louder drowning out the voices of the firemen as they hustled from their rigs to the warehouse weaving a web of hoses in their wake. The noxious smell of the burning building weighted down by the water dousing the flames permeated his nostrils sticking to the back of his throat with each inhalation. He tightened his chin strap then gripped the microphone shouting orders above the dragon's roar. She was in her death throws now and his heart began to swell with pride. Another beast was about to be vanquished by the knights in shining armor of the Los Angeles County Fire Department. He continued to issue orders when something seemed out of place. His hazel eyes scanned the scene searching for that which his brain couldn't quite identify. He raised the microphone, keying it to issue the order to evacuate as his heart thudded inside his chest. He felt the hair along his arms and on the back of his neck stand up as his body prepared for fight or flight. He inhaled deeply and began his command for the men to evacuate when he heard and felt the dragon's final assault against the men under his command.

He flinched in response to the explosion instinctively burying his face in the crook of his turnout clad arm. Franticly, he began searching for them but no one was there. He surveyed the parking lot where there were engines and hoses…but no men. They were gone. All of them gone in an instant.

Slamming the microphone back down in the seat of engine 51, Captain Stanley stepped down from the side of the rig as total rage consumed him. Without any additional equipment or plan of attack, he ran; he didn't use his usual loping gallop but instead charged headlong at the structure. The only place his men could be was inside the belly of the beast and he was determined to get them back even if it meant shredding the building apart with his bare hands.

His skin was burning, his lungs protesting and his fingers stung as he pulled apart the flaming structure as if it were made of tinker toys. He heaved for air as he fought to dig inside to rescue his men from all three stations that had responded to the scene of which he was incident commander. "NO! Not on my watch!" He grunted, lifting another heavy metal pole searching for any signs of life beneath. Suddenly, he heard it; a faint weak sounding voice calling out his name.

"Hank."

"I'm coming…hold on," he mumbled when the voice reached his ears again, a little louder this time. But he also felt someone grabbing at his boots.

"HANK!"

His body trembled when he realized that it was Rebecca's voice calling out to him from inside the fire. "Becca?"

"Hank, wake up, sweetheart," she called out trying to jostle him by the foot so as to stay out of his reach.

"Becca! No!" He shouted as he shot up in bed, wild eyes searching about without seeing.

Rebecca backed up away from the bed in response to the suddenness of his movement. She hesitated, watching as he regained his sense of awareness. "Hank…you…you were dreaming, sweetheart."

Hank looked at his surroundings. He was at home in his own bedroom with only the soft glow of a lamp emanating from the nightstand on the opposite side of the bed. He ran a shaky hand across his weary face feeling the scratchiness of his morning stubble. His eyes burned and his head was pounding as he looked around the room again for the source of the voice he'd heard in his sleep. "Becca?" He called out in a soft expectant voice.

"I'm here," she responded.

His hazel eyes followed the sound and when they found what they were looking for, the struggling captain gasped in horror. There, huddled back into the antique chair was his wife. Her eyes were wide with fear and when he moved toward her slightly he watched her recoil. "Becca? Wha…what's going on?"

"What do you remember?" She asked, her voice trembling as much as her body.

Once again, he looked around the room. The towel lying where his head had just been and the small plastic waste basket beside the bed triggered a memory that he wished he could forget. "I…I was at…at the bar…," he began; his shoulders rounding as he slumped in defeat.

"Go on…what else?" She gently prodded, remaining a safe distance from him as she awaited a final determination on his level of alertness.

"I was in the bathroom, vomiting and," he hesitated as he stared off into the distance between the two of them. "They…they were here weren't they?"

"Who?" She asked, daring to slip a bit closer to him. Her arms ached to reach out to the only man she'd ever loved.

"Roy…Roy and Marco?" He vaguely remembered two of his men being present and thought he remembered Marco's distinctive accent.

Rebecca stood up and closed the distance between them as she carefully sat down on the edge of the bed. "Yes…they were…they brought you home."

Hank leaned his elbows on his knees but the pounding in his head only worsened. He sat back up daring to look at his wife. The lamplight glistened along the moisture pooling in her eyes. His own eyes darted around her face not sure of what he was searching for. She was beautiful in his eyes. Twenty years and two children hadn't changed a thing about her appearance; not to him anyway. Her dress size may have gone up slightly and there were crow's feet just beginning to make their presence known but she was still the same chestnut haired beauty he fell in love with in high school. But her eyes looked a bit haunted to him and as his gaze dropped a little lower, the slight swelling and bruising along her upper lip reached inside his chest, ripping out his heart and trampling his soul. "Ohmygod," he began lifting a nervous hand slowly up to her cheek. His trembling fingers ran along her cheekbone whisking away the streaks of moisture her eyelids could no longer contain. Then he slowly brushed a calloused thumb along the bruising of her upper lip being careful not to put any pressure on it. "I…did I…" he couldn't get the question out as guilt quickly stole his voice.

Rebecca couldn't stop the flowing of her tears. She tilted her head to the side enjoying even the slightest feel of his touch then lowered it leaving her tears to drip from her chin onto her lap. She sniffled trying her best to compose herself but failing. "You, ah…you didn't mean to…to do it," she whimpered. It wasn't your fault," she finally managed to utter into the stillness of the night.

Hank struggled to breathe; vacillating between wanting to grab her and hold her tightly and yet not wanting to cause her any more pain. He tentatively reached across her shoulders waiting to see how she reacted before he made any more moves. When he felt her body relax and slowly melt into his embrace he pulled her in tightly against his chest. He felt her sobbing and heard her ragged breathing. He cupped his hand around the side of her head, entwining his fingers in her dark hair as he continued to hold her close. How could he have allowed things to get this far out of control? "Oh Becca, I'm so…so sorry for…," he wheezed feeling his own body succumb to the gut wrenching sobs he'd been harboring near the surface. He would never forgive himself for hurting her. She was his life, his soul, the mother of his two beautiful girls and now he held her sobbing within his embrace - a broken woman shattered by the man she loved. Then another thought even more dire than this one ran through his mind. His girls…what might he have done to his girls?

"Nugh, uh…Missy and uh, Vickie?"

Rebecca understood his question even if he wasn't able to clearly formulate it in his mind. "They got home a few hours ago from the skating rink. They, um…they're upstairs so I…I don't think they heard you…crying out."

"But…have I…have I hurt them too?" He asked sounding more like a terrified little boy than a fire department captain.

Rebecca pulled back away from his chest looking deeply into his blood shot eyes. "No," she crooned. "I don't think they even realize what's happening."

He nodded his head, allowing his face to once again lean downward. He squeezed his eyes shut then scrubbed his palm down his face. "It…it um, won't happen again…I promise," he said with a gulp.

Her ears perked up immediately at the thought of him seeking out help without her pushing the issue. "You'll…you mean, you'll get some help?" She asked hopefully.

"I'm ah, I'm gonna make sure that I help you and the girls, Becca. I can't subject you to this anymore and I promise I won't let it continue."

Alarm streaked across her face at the fatalistic tone in his voice. "Hank…what do you mean by that?"

"You three girls are more important to me than anything this world has to offer. I won't allow my problems to hurt you…physically or emotionally…at least not anymore," he tried to stand but felt the achiness in his joints and back – sure signs that he had become dehydrated during his binge the previous night. His grimace got an immediate reaction from his wife.

"Easy, please just lie back down. Whatever you need, I'll get it for you," she soothed, gently pushing his chest back as he lay against the pillows.

"Away," he whispered, heartbroken.

"A way to do what?" Rebecca asked not understanding his meaning.

"No…away…I need to get away…from you and the girls. It's the only way I can know for sure that it won't happen again."

Rebecca couldn't believe what she was hearing. "What? You'd leave us before you saw a counselor?"

Hank's headache was getting worse. "A counselor can't help me. He can't undo what I've done."

"No…but maybe, just maybe he could make sure you don't do it again," she pleaded. "Please…don't run away from this Hank? Don't run away from US?"

He turned angry eyes at her. "I am NOT running away from us, Becca!" He growled at her. "I'm protecting you…protecting my family…something I should've done weeks ago and didn't," he said, turning away from her.

Rebecca sat there stunned at what she was hearing. Unfortunately, the family Hank was referring to wasn't only the family made up of his wife and daughters. He was thinking about another family he had failed a few weeks earlier…a failure that was now haunting both his days as well as his nights.


	5. Chapter 5

Hank's Haunting

Chapter 5

Hank backed his black sedan out of the driveway earlier than usual on Monday morning. He hadn't gotten much rest the night before and most of Sunday had been spent arguing with his wife and upsetting their older daughter. He eased to a stop at the red traffic light as his mind drifted back to their most heated conversation from the previous day.

"Please, Hank…don't we mean anything to you?" Rebecca's reddened eyes were swollen from the tears she had been shedding off and on most of the day.

Exasperatedly, Hank spun around with one hand on his hip and the other rubbing his forehead. "You and the girls mean everything to me! That's why I've got to stay somewhere else until this passes. Why can't you understand that?"

"Because running from whatever it is won't make it go away," she said harshly through gritted teeth. "It'll keep chasing you and chasing you until one day…it catches you…then what, huh? Then what'll you do?"

He paced the length of the living room rug; his mind spinning in a multitude of directions. "I don't know…I don't know, but one thing I do know for sure," he looked over at her tear stained face. "I know I won't hurt you again…nor the girls…I won't…can't let it happen again."

Rebecca closed her eyes as defeat cradled her within its grasp. "Why? Why can't you just swallow that damn pride of yours and go get some help?"

"You want me to see a head shrink?" He asked then continued on with his rant without giving her time to respond. "Oh that's just brilliant, Becca. That'll look real good on my personnel file with the department." He waved his thin hand in the air in front of him as if he were reading a marquee. "Los Angeles County Fire Department Captain requires therapy after a fire," he smirked. "Oh yea…that'll look real good."

"It looks better than Mom with a fat lip."

Both Stanley adults turned quickly to see their older daughter, Missy, standing in the doorway. Her long brown hair parted in the middle and tucked neatly behind each ear. Her own hazel eyes, so much like her father's, were brimming with tears. It was Hank who spoke first.

"How long have you been standing there, Missy?"

"Long enough to hear what you two are fighting about," she answered crossing her arms nervously over her chest and staring down at the floor.

"We aren't fighting, Missy."

"Oh yea? Well what do you call it then, Mom? You're yelling at Dad and he's yelling at you and then he obviously hit you at some point over the last day or so," she waved an open hand in Rebecca's direction.

"Melissa Stanley, you watch your mouth, young lady." Hank's eyes were beginning to glare at his older daughter.

"Why don't you watch yours," she said turning on her heels. "Better yet, why don't ya watch your fist," she charged towards her room, hair flowing behind her.

The memory of the slamming sound of Melissa's bedroom door startled Hank back into the present. Then he heard the sound of a horn honking and looked up to see that the light had turned green.

E!

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Roy looked up from his plate of eggs and toast, realizing that Joanne was waiting for an answer. He reached for his cup of coffee with a forced grin. "Just thinking about this shift."

"You're really worried about them aren't you?" It had been hard for Joanne to imagine the scene Roy had described to her when he had returned home Saturday night.

"Yea…I can't help it, Jo. If you'd seen Rebecca…," his voice trailed off as he remembered the swelling and bruising along her upper lip and the excuse he and Johnny had heard too many times before when they had been dispatched to the scene of a domestic violence case.

Joanne clutched her white coffee cup within her interlaced fingers. She shifted in her seat sweeping one leg beneath her as she contemplated what she was about to say. "Roy…do you think…well, what if I call her and invite her to go out to lunch? Think maybe she'd talk to me?"

He reached his hand out and covered her left forearm. He waited for her worried green eyes to lock on to his equally concerned blue ones. "Honey…I appreciate that and I know you want to help but…I really don't think she'd go out…not with her injury."

Joanne reached across her body allowing her hand to rest softly on top of her husband's, both relishing the gentle touch of the other. "I understand. But, if I can do anything…please, let me know how to help. I want to help."

Roy leaned into his wife and their lips met. The kiss was soft but full of passion…then it was interrupted.

"Eww, gross!"

Roy leaned back rolling his eyes at his young daughter's voice. "Good morning, Jennifer."

"Morning, Daddy."

"Are you hungry, sweetie?" Joanne asked already standing to prepare plates for both of her children knowing the school bus would be arriving in less than twenty minutes.

"I'm gonna head on in, Jo. Maybe I'll have a chance to talk to him before shift starts."

"Bye, Daddy."

Roy patted his daughter on the head then swiftly kissed her cheek. He stood up, landing a quick kiss on Joanne's cheek then headed for the front door. He saw his son trudging down the stairs. "Hustle up, Chris. Don't wanna be late."

"Bye, Dad," came the sleepy response accented by a yawn as Chris made his way to the kitchen table.

E!

Across town, Marco finished his breakfast and stood up, placing his plate in the sink and swallowing the last bit of coffee before setting the cup on the dirty plate. He felt a familiar arm wrap around his waist and turned into the comforting embrace of his mother. "Gracious, Mama."

"Do not worry so much, my son," Mrs. Lopez said softly, pulling him tight against her ample right hip.

Marco had spent the previous day with his mother as he so often did on his Sunday's off. They had talked well into the night about his concerns for his captain. He knew that whatever he told her would be kept in the strictest confidence and for that he was grateful.

"You should've seen him though," he began again, his mind taking him back to the Stanley residence on Sunday night. "He was just so…I don't know…not Cap."

Mrs. Lopez eyed her son smiling at his handsome features. "One never knows what goes on behind closed doors, Marco."

He looked down at her, draping his left arm over her shoulders and leaning down until their heads lightly touched. "Then you think maybe he really did do it?"

"It's not for me to say. I am not his judge…and neither are you," she reminded.

"I know, Mama. But if he did do it then something must be terribly wrong."

"Perhaps it is a sickness you do not know of," she began, pulling back from him and staring into his dark eyes.

"What kind of sickness makes you hurt the ones you love…unless it's," he gulped. "Unless he's drinking too much."

She smiled warmly at her son knowing that there were many types of sickness that could cause the situation he had described the previous night. "He might be sick in his mind or sick in his soul…not all sickness is of the body."

Marco leaned down, kissing his mother quickly on her forehead. "You are a wise woman. I love you, Mama."

"I love you too, Marco. Have a safe shift and…stay focused on that which you can change…not on that which can only be changed by another."

A grin spread beneath his mustache as a warmth spread throughout his soul. He reached down, retrieving his duffle bag from the sofa and headed out the door. He didn't know how he was going to face his captain now that he knew of the older man's personal troubles. But deep inside his heart of hearts, he knew he had to do something to help him, not only for Hank's sake but the sake of his family as well.

E!

Hank parked his car and made his way inside the back door of the station. He greeted the C-shift engineer who was standing behind the station enjoying the cool morning sipping on a fresh cup of coffee.

"You're here early," the younger man said with a nod.

"Thought I'd give your captain a break in case he's had enough of you guys for a few days," Hank chuckled back hoping his explanation was enough to satisfy the curious man. He stepped into the locker room long enough to deposit his personal effects and fresh uniforms into his locker then circled through and stepped out the dorm doorway on his way to the captain's office.

Captain Hookraider was just finishing up his morning routine when he heard footsteps he recognized stepping up to the open office door. "Hank?" He glanced down at his watch. "You're almost an hour early."

"Well, I was awake and didn't want to disturb the Stanley girls so I thought I'd come on in." At least it wasn't a total lie. "I'll take over whenever you're ready to leave."

"Sounds good to me," he began pushing back from the desk. "Had a pretty rough shift; out most of the night. We just got back in about two hours ago. I hope your men won't mind doing the clean-up on the rigs."

"Nah, you know we'll take care of it. We're a team aren't we?"

Captain Hookraider chuckled to himself as he patted his relief on the shoulder and stepped out of the office. "Safe shift, Hank. And I do appreciate the extra time off," he said with a wink.

E!

Roy turned on his blinker preparing to make the left turn into the station just as Captain Hookraider pulled out onto 223rd St. He knew that meant that Hank had already arrived and relieved the man of his post. Hopefully, he'd have time to talk to him before the rest of the crew arrived. He grabbed his duffle bag from the passenger's seat of his Porsche then walked briskly past the engineer who still stood behind the building sipping his morning coffee.

"Mornin' Roy."

"Morning, did I see your Captain leaving just now?" Roy already knew the answer but he was hoping the exhausted looking engineer might offer a bit more information.

"Yea…yours got here early."

"Good, that'll give me a chance to talk to him. Thanks, man," Roy said rushing off to the locker room to change clothes.

The C-shift engineer finished his coffee, tossing the remnants over the back wall. As he turned around, he saw a burgundy Buick he recognized turning into the drive. He stood at the wall giving Marco a slight nod of his head as he waited for the lineman to exit.

"What's with you guys this morning?"

Marco glanced up in confusion as he pulled the strap of his bag over his shoulder. "What's that?"

"Half of A-shift is here early," the engineer exclaimed. "Of course, my relief would be in the other half this morning," he snickered.

Marco looked around noting that Hank's and Roy's cars were already in the parking lot. "Mike is always early," he began as he turned toward the locker room. "He'll be here soon to relieve you," he tossed over his shoulder with a forced grin. His chest was already feeling tight as he wondered if Roy had decided to come in early for a chance to talk to their captain too.

Roy was tying his shoes when the latrine door suddenly opened and Marco walked in. Their eyes met and both knew exactly what the other was thinking. "You're early too, huh?"

Marco pulled open the door of his locker and began undressing. "Yes…give me a minute to get my uniform on and I'll go with you. I really want to get this over with," he groaned.

Hank had left the door to the office open as he went to pour himself a cup of coffee. He was going to need all the caffeine he could get to make it through the next twenty-four hours. He spoke cordially to the remaining members of C-shift who sat around the kitchen table waiting for their A-shift counterparts to arrive. He poured himself a cup of coffee then began making another pot for his own crew whom he knew would be arriving soon. Once that task was completed, he stepped quickly through the doorway, blowing a cooling breath across his cup as he stepped back into his office.

He stopped suddenly, nearly spilling the burning liquid on his chest with the abrupt movement. He drew his bushy eyebrows into his hairline. "What are you two doing here so early?"

Roy and Marco exchanged a quick glance. "We, ah… we wanted to talk to you before shift," Roy said nervously.

"Ok, so talk," Hank said nudging his way between his two men and taking his seat at the olive colored desk. His gut tightened knowing where the conversation was likely headed.

"Are you ok, Cap?"

Hank looked at his lineman with one eyebrow raised. "Yes, why wouldn't I be?"

"Well, you…um, you weren't feeling so well when we saw you last," Roy stammered.

"Well, as you can see I'm fine now so save your paramedic skills for the field, eh Pal?" Hank shuffled papers on his desk hoping his two men would take the hint and leave him alone.

"Cap, it doesn't take a paramedic to know that something is wrong with you." Marco bit his lower lip knowing he was pushing the limits with his superior.

Hank slowly spun the chair around to face his two men who were still standing near the doorway. He leaned his head back slowly narrowing his eyes, giving them both a cold stare that made them shift nervously. "DeSoto?"

"Yes sir?"

Hank clenched his teeth together, flexing his jaw muscles as he fought to restrain himself. "Shut the damn door."


	6. Chapter 6

Warning: language

Hank's Haunting – 6

Roy turned and did as he was told, closing the door firmly until he heard the clicking sound that let him know it was secure. He didn't want anyone outside the captain's office overhearing the impending conversation. When he turned back around he noted that his superior's face was growing red. They locked eyes only briefly although the uneasiness between them made the fleeting moment seem to linger for an eternity.

"Ahem, now why don't you both take a seat," he ordered.

Roy and Marco didn't dare look at each other. Instead, they complied with the somewhat forceful request.

Hank waited for the two men to be seated and allowed the silence to make their discomfort grow. Finally, he spoke up. "Marco, you were saying?"

Marco glanced up into hazel eyes of fury. He gulped feeling the heat from Hank's stare as the older man leaned forward slightly. "Um, yes sir. Ah, we," he stammered flicking his hand between himself and Roy. "We could tell you, um…well, you just weren't yourself Saturday night and we were wondering if…if you were alright."

Hank leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers beneath his chin. "Does that go for you too, DeSoto?"

"Yes sir, it does." Roy could see the relief on Marco's face as soon as he acknowledged their agreement.

"So, let me get this straight. The two of you think that I have some sort of personal problem just because I might've had a bit too much to drink Saturday night? Is that it?" Hank's head moved slightly from side to side as he looked both his men in the eyes.

"We're not judging you, Cap but it is very unusual for you to drink in excess," Marco responded.

Hank drew his eyebrows into a 'V' as he stared disbelievingly at his lineman. "For your information, not that I have to answer to you, Lopez, I'm fine. Nothing's wrong whatsoever!" Hank assumed an overly relaxed posture, palms turned upward.

"And what about Mrs. Stanley? Is she fine too?" Roy was taken aback by his own brazenness but he didn't regret asking the question.

Hank stiffened his neck at the mention of his wife. "Of course. Why wouldn't she be?" Hank knew exactly what his paramedic meant by the question and he was determined to correct the younger man's thinking.

"Uh, she had a…a bruise and a swollen lip. I offered to take a look at…"

"Don't you think I'd know if my own wife needed medical attention?" Hank stood up then and towered over his subordinate not giving him a chance to answer the question. "I may not be a paramedic, DeSoto but I damn sure know how to take care of my family so don't you EVER waltz back into my office and make such accusations against me again." Hank leaned over resting one hand on the arm of Roy's chair while the other landed firmly on his right hip while he intentionally invaded the paramedic's personal space. "Do. You. Understand?"

"Cap, we just…" Marco tried to intervene but was quickly cut off by his snarling captain.

"Dismissed, Lopez!" Hank said in a raised voice, eyes locked with those of his senior paramedic.

"Cap, please just let…" Marco began but was once again interrupted.

"I. said. DISMISSED!" Hank stood up to his full height pointing towards the door.

Marco gulped as he looked over at his friend. He hated leaving Roy alone to face their captain in this situation but he had been given his orders. Slowly, he stood up and turned towards the door. He hesitated for a moment wanting to say more but instead he walked out of the office and stood with both elbows leaning against the front fender of the squad trying to catch his breath.

Inside the office, Roy squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. "I don't know what kind of a stunt you're trying to pull here but it better end now or you'll face disciplinary action. Do I make myself clear?"

Roy inhaled deeply. "You'd reprimand me for being concerned about you and your family?"

"No, but I will reprimand you for accusing me of mistreating Becca. I won't stand for that. Just because we seem to get toned out every time some drunken fool decides to beat up the missus doesn't mean that's what happened between Becca and me Saturday night. I did NOT harm her Saturday night. I love my wife so why would I hurt her? Now, there will be no more talk of this shit or you will face the repercussions. Got it, DeSoto?"

Roy set his jaw in place biting his teeth together firmly. Hank had just answered his question without even realizing it. Now, he had to find a way to help the Stanley's. "Yes. Sir."

"Dismissed," Hank said running a hand across his dry lips as he watched his senior paramedic leave the office. He stood for a moment trembling as he stared at the half opened office door. This had to end now before Roy and Marco spread their rumor to the point that the L.A. County Fire Department head shed heard about it. He had enough problems to deal with without adding the judgmental inquiries of the department's top brass. He shuddered at the thought of facing Chief McConnike in such an investigation, envisioning the smug look on the older man's face.

Mike walked out of the kitchen with a cup of fresh coffee smiling as Pete, the C-shift engineer, hurriedly left the station. He turned to his left and noticed Marco leaning against the squad. Worriedly, he picked up the pace to check on his friend just as Roy stepped out of Hank's office. He couldn't help but notice how red-faced the paramedic was and immediately wondered what was going on.

"You fellas alright?"

Both men looked up at their engineer but neither had time to answer before another deep voice answered for them.

"They're fine, Michael. But I need to see you in my office for a moment, please."

Mike threw a concerned expression to his two shift mates before turning to face his captain. "Sure, Cap."

As soon as the office door was closed, Roy blew out his breath then assumed a mirrored stance to Marco.

"So what happened?" Marco questioned knowing the answer wasn't going to be a good one.

Roy looked up with a mixture of worry and anger swirling around his features. "He threatened to reprimand me if I continued to accuse him of hurting Mrs. Stanley."

"He what?" Marco felt his own blood beginning to boil. "How can he do that? What happened has nothing to do with your job, man."

"I know but think about it. Neither one of us accused him of anything other than getting drunk, hardly the unpardonable sin. We never said anything about him hurting her. All I did was mentioned her injuries and asked if she was ok?" Roy cut his eyes over at the closed office door then back to his friend. "He emphasized that he didn't hurt her Saturday night," Roy continued. "He specifically said Saturday night but she was already bruised when we got him home."

Understanding crept across the lineman's face. "So, technically he isn't lying is he?"

Roy merely nodded glancing down at his feet as Marco put all the pieces together in his mind.

"Roy?"

Roy looked up at his friend then stood up straighter leaning one hip against the squad while he waited for Marco to complete his thought.

"He really did do it, didn't he?"

E!

"Mike, you know that I…I trust you; count on you to be in charge any time when I can't, right?"

Mike had no idea where the conversation was going but it was making him feel uncomfortable. He felt a wave of warmth spreading upwards from his chest around his neck. "Yes, sir."

"I need for you to, uh, keep an ear out for something, will ya, Pal?" Hank tried to speak with his kindest voice. He had to keep his temper in check and make sure that Mike couldn't tell he was on the verge of losing it.

"For what?"

By his expression, Hank knew that Roy and Marco had not told Mike anything yet and for that he was grateful. "I, well, I'm sure you'll hear about it soon enough. I'm not proud of myself but…I went to Embers Saturday afternoon and…well, I had a little too much to drink and…uh, Marco and Roy drove me home."

Mike managed to resist the urge to blurt out a sarcastic 'is that all?' Instead, he opted for a more appropriate response to his captain. "I'm sorry to hear that, Cap. I'm glad they were there with you though." Mike felt the hair on the back of his neck standing. Something was amiss but he had no idea what it could be. He'd driven several men home from Embers himself so it certainly wasn't unusual.

"Yea well, I'm not. Sorry bas…," Hank stopped himself realizing that the man standing before him was also a crew mate. "They're out blabbing it to the whole world and," he hesitated for a moment as an idea crept into his mind. "Have you ever played that kid's game called Grapevine or something like that?" Hank asked with a frivolous toss of his hand.

Mike drew his eyebrows together in confusion at the sudden change in the conversation. "The one where you sit in a circle and whisper something in someone's ear; then they pass it on to the next person and you see how different it is when it gets around the whole circle?"

"Yea, that's the one. What I just told you is the absolute truth, I swear it. Now, if you hear that anything else happened that night…well, it'll be an exaggerated version of that truth so you'll let me know won't you?"

Mike shifted uneasily. He didn't like his captain pulling him into the middle of whatever was happening between the three men and he certainly didn't want to be put into the position of a snitch. He couldn't imagine either of his crew mates actually doing what their superior was standing here accusing them of doing. Johnny, maybe. Chet, definitely. Marco and Roy? Not a chance. Mike chose his words very carefully. "Cap, if I hear any kind of falsehood, I'll let you know and I'll put a stop to it myself."

Hank breathed a sigh of relief as he patted his engineer on the shoulder. "Thanks, Mike. I knew I could count on you." He took a couple of steps towards the door. "Get the men ready for roll call, will ya?"

Mike turned slowly to leave but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder. He spun back around to look into the face of his captain; a face that had aged ten years in the last couple of weeks.

"Uh, I don't mean to sound ungrateful with what I've said. I mean, I do appreciate the fact that I got home safely and didn't have an accident or anything but,"

Mike watched as a myriad of emotions seemed to play across Hank's face like a kaleidoscope. "But?" He asked urging his captain to continue.

"Well, never mind," Hank replied with a forced smile. "I just don't want the word to get around that one of 51's captain's has a…a problem. Know what I mean?"

Mike nodded as Hank slapped him on the back and escorted him to the door closing it quickly as his engineer left. He then leaned his back against the door and stared up at the ceiling. With all the training he had received over the years, how could he have made such a crucial mistake? Furthermore…how was he going to correct it?

Hank returned to his desk where he sorted through and attached the memos to his clipboard, composed himself as best he could, then walked out his office door. Just as he took his place in front of the line of only four men, he heard the latrine door open and saw his younger paramedic loping into place, still trying to fasten his belt.

"Ahem, glad you could join us, Gage."

Johnny looked appropriately remorseful. "Sorry, Cap."

"Men, this is Sanford Mullins," Hank announced gesturing at the dark blonde young man who stood between Roy and the late arriving Johnny. Sandy is new to the county department but has a few years of firefighting experience from down in San Diego. He'll be filling in for Chet until he returns." Hank walked dutifully along the line of men, noting that neither Roy nor Marco would make eye contact.

"Sandy, this is my engineer, Mike Stoker. Lineman, Marco Lopez. Paramedics Roy DeSoto and John Gage."

After the introductions, Hank read over the memos then doled out the chore assignments. "Mike, you have the day room. Marco, you have kitchen duty. Make sure you clean the stove, oven and the refrigerator too."

Marco frowned knowing that the added duties were because of his earlier conversation with their captain.

"Johnny, you and Sandy have dorms. Show him which bunk he'll have while he's here."

Johnny couldn't hide his confusion. He knew that he should have rightfully been given latrine duty because of his near tardiness. He looked over at his partner knowing that he was the only man left who could be assigned the dreaded duty and saw the frustrated look on his partner's face.

"Roy, you've got latrines. Make them sparkle. Dismissed."

Hank stood watch as the men made their way to their assignments. He saw the look on Johnny's face and knew he was about to ask Roy why he'd been assigned latrines. "John, get a move on." He waited for Johnny to step away followed by Sandy. He then turned to his other paramedic. "Roy?"

Roy immediately felt his spine stiffen at the sound of Hank's voice calling out to him.

"Do your inventory checks and morning calibrations on the squad before you hit the latrines."

"Yes sir," Roy struggled to say trying to calm his raging nerves.

"Let me get Sandy started and I'll help ya," Johnny called out, having still been close enough to hear Hank's order.

"He can do it, John. You and Sandy get the dorms." Hank was determined to keep Johnny away from Roy long enough for Roy to understand just how precarious his situation was at the moment. He hoped that by the time he finished with Roy, the younger man would understand that Hank meant business about the reprimand. Still, he knew how close his paramedics were, both on duty and off so he stepped back enough to give Roy room to work while making sure the paramedic counted everything correctly. Primarily, he needed to keep an eye on Roy to make sure he remained alone while he contemplated his next move – how to convince Johnny that what his partner and best friend was going to tell him was a lie.

E!

A/N: Thank you for the reviews and pm's. I appreciate you all for taking the time to help me better my craft.


	7. Chapter 7

Hank's Haunting – 7

Roy continued his efforts to complete morning checks on the squad under the glare of his captain who stood only a few feet away. He dared not look up at the man for fear his own temper might explode; something he was normally able to keep hidden from everyone – even his family – but at the moment he was struggling with it. He could feel his hands trembling as he pulled open the drug box and began his counting. He didn't even realize he was biting the inside of his lip until he tasted his own blood. He stopped amid his counting and began again; his mind wandering away from the task at hand as Roy began thinking about reasons why the man who stood over him would behave so out of character.

Hank crossed his arms staring down at his senior paramedic. He could see the younger man struggling and knew his words and his presence were having the desired effect. But his heart began a silent argument with his brain, chastising him. How could a fire captain create such negativity around the station; a station whose occupants needed to be at their best in order to help the citizens of the county when their lives were at their worst? Before the contemplation was completed, the tones sounded calling out the station to a traffic accident and offering both men a bit of a reprieve from their personal battle.

E!

He stood in front of her apartment door knocking, trying to calm his nerves. She needed his help with her daughter and Chet was determined to assist the pretty young mother even though his experience with children was rather limited. After all, how hard could it be to take care of such a little person? He heard movement inside the apartment and the clicking of the locking mechanism being disengaged.

"Morning, Chet."

He peeked inside and saw that Caroline was dressed and ready to go to her appointment but she was holding a very sleepy pajama-clad toddler in her arms. He couldn't stop the grin from overwhelming his mustached face. "Morning…and good morning to you too, ladybug."

Corrie grinned at the man she had grown to adore in a very short time but continued to keep her head resting on her mother's left shoulder; she was no hurry to relinquish her position on her mother's hip. Caroline stepped back allowing Chet to enter the apartment while the child became more alert.

"There's coffee made and I've got some pastries on the counter as well. Please make yourself at home," Caroline offered as she returned to the sofa to hold Corrie just a few more minutes hoping the toddler would warm up a little more to the man she affectionately called 'Mizzer Fet.' She began rubbing circles along her daughter's back and speaking to her in a soft voice. Her heart warmed as it always did in the presence of Chet. Watching him in her kitchen made her miss a man's presence even more. She also noticed that his limp seemed to be completely gone and knew that he'd be going back to work soon. For that, she was thankful knowing that he would be back out in the county doing what he loved.

"Corrie, Mr. Chet is going to stay with you until Momma gets back from her doctor's appointment, ok?" She hesitated hoping she wouldn't have to coax the child out of her arms. When Corrie laid her head against her mother's chest, Caroline looked apologetically at her friend.

Chet poured himself a cup of black coffee, grimacing as he remembered his last cup of coffee in Caroline's apartment then chuckled slightly to himself. Although Mr. Marx had originally seemed to despise Chet, he had eventually come around by the end of the party….and after a healthy tongue lashing from his wife. Chet peeked inside the pink pastry box and pulled out a powdered donut then silently smiled when he heard the pitter patter of little bare feet running around the bar in his direction. He glanced out of the corner of his eye and saw a pair of dark eyes peeking at him intently from around the corner of the bar. Taking a huge bite of the donut, he made sure that the powdered sugar stuck to his mustache. After washing the bite of donut down with a sip of coffee, he turned around grinning at his tiny admirer.

"Ahh…haahaa," she squealed pointing up at the silly looking Irishman. "Monk."

Caroline couldn't help but giggle at the sight of the fearless fireman with the sugar coated mustache. "No sweetie, that isn't milk. That's sugar," she said fighting the giggles that had overwhelmed her daughter as well as Chet.

"Oh, is something wrong, ladybug? Did Mr. Chet make a mess with his donut?" Chet asked edging closer to the chuckling child.

"Corrie, be good for Mr. Chet," Caroline called out as she pulled her purse onto her shoulder. She had been concerned she might feel uneasy leaving her daughter with a man as a babysitter but as she watched the two interacting and giggling, those concerns dissipated like the fog on that long ago fateful morning when their three lives became forever intertwined. This was the man who had saved her daughter's life. If she couldn't trust Chester B. Kelly with her daughter then who could she trust?

"Chet, she usually just eats a banana or something when she first wakes up. She isn't much of a breakfast eater. I should be back by 10:30 as long as my therapy doesn't take too long. I'll be at Rampart on the…," she began but Chet held up his hand to stop her.

"I know, Caroline. We'll be just fine until you get back so take your time. And…try not to worry," he said with a genuine smile. He could tell she was nervous about leaving Corrie with him and he didn't want her to be so concerned about what was happening at home that she didn't get the full benefit of her physical therapy.

Caroline looked back and saw Corrie standing beside her rescuer hugging his left leg. The child truly did feel comfortable around him and with a renewed lightness in her step, Caroline walked out of the apartment knowing that her most precious treasure was in good hands.

E!

Mike weaved the long engine between the rows of cars that were positioned haphazardly along the freeway. Roy had easily maneuvered the squad to the scene but the engine took much more time and a greater level of skill. By the time he pulled the rig to a stop, Roy and Johnny were already donning their turnouts.

"Station 51 on scene. Get me an ETA on law enforcement." Hank requested as his crew dismounted the engine and joined their comrades from the squad.

"10-4, 51…standby," Sam Lanier replied.

At that moment, blue lights and a wailing siren announced the approaching assistance. While Hank cancelled his request for an ETA, Roy called out for assistance.

"Gonna need the jaws on this one; she's wedged in here tight." He had pulled open the passenger's door of a blue sports car and was trying to assess his semiconscious victim and keep her calm. The dash seemed to have melted around her legs.

Marco had already heard the request and he and his temporary partner went to work retrieving the extrication tools.

Hank had seen Johnny heading over to the white utility van that was clearly the cause of the accident. It was tilted onto its driver's side with the unconscious driver lying against the door; his face a bloody mess.

"Hey, mister?" Johnny called out while trying to find a way to get inside. "Mister can ya hear me?"

Hank quickly ran past Vince who was positioning his police car to maintain crowd control while he waited for back-up. "Whatcha got, John?"

Johnny struggled to pull back on the windshield that was hanging loosely on the upper left corner. As soon as he had enough of an opening, he began to climb in. "Not sure, Cap. Head injury it looks like; he hasn't moved."

"Alright, whatcha need?" Hank asked picking up his HT.

"Backboard and neck brace for sure," Johnny answered, carefully climbing inside the crumpled front seat. "I'll let ya know what else as soon as I can get to him."

"HT 51 to engine 51," Hank called out to his engineer.

"Engine 51, go ahead, Cap." Mike had barely heard the radio transmission over the loud roar of the jaws of life.

"Bring us a backboard and neck brace," he barked out commandingly.

"Backboard and neck brace, 10-4." Mike dropped the microphone and began pulling out the requested items.

Johnny slipped inside the tight opening, squatting down sideways in an effort to get close enough to his victim to check him out. He used his teeth to remove his thick gloves then slid two fingers around the victim's neck in search of a pulse. His hand was coated in sticky blood as he searched in vain for the life affirming flutter beneath his fingertips.

"C'mon, man. At least give us a chance," the paramedic mumbled as he continued to search for some sign of life. Finally, he leaned over far enough to reach the opposite side of the victim's head and walked his fingers down below his ear where Johnny's fingers fumbled around a very large piece of metal and glass protruding from the victim's neck. The side mirror had shattered on impact and sent a jagged section inside the open window impaling the driver's jugular vein. His life had quickly gushed from his body as his heart gave its final quiver long before Station 51 had arrived on scene.

Johnny's shoulders slumped in defeat and despair. He hated it when he lost a patient, even if that patient never had a chance in the first place. It was a hazard of the job but one to which he never grew accustomed. He blew out a breathy sigh then looked up at his superior leaning his face in the opening with questioning eyes. Johnny merely shook his head.

"Mike and I will get him covered, John. Go see what you can do to help Roy." Hank hated to see the looks on the faces of his men when they lost one. They all took their jobs of protecting L.A. County's citizens extremely seriously and for that he was very proud. He stepped back extending a hand to his paramedic and helping him out of the carnage. He patted the young man on the shoulder then watched him head off in the other direction. Hank looked up giving Mike a nod that the engineer recognized. He returned the backboard to the engine and pulled out a yellow blanket knowing what was waiting for him in the wreckage.

As soon as Mike jogged up to him, Hank reached out for the blanket his engineer was holding. "Fella bled out from a puncture wound to his jugular."

"I'm sorry, Cap. Let's get him covered fast. I think Roy's got a bad one over there," Mike said tilting his head to his left.

Hank and Mike spread the blanket out as best they could to cover the body until the coroner arrived. They tucked the ends of the blanket beneath pieces of the vehicle to prevent the wind from blowing it back revealing the unpleasant result of the accident to the bystanders who were beginning to gather in spite of the police officers' efforts to hold them back. As soon as that task was completed, Hank stood back up quickly…then stumbled against the roof of the van as his world faded from misty gray to black.

Mike saw Hank's body beginning to crumble as he leaned unsteadily against the upturned vehicle. Instinctively, he reached out supporting his captain and easing him to the ground. "Cap?"

"Uh, M-Mike, I…," he mumbled wincing at the throbbing in his head.

"Take it easy, Cap. Lemme get Johnny to come take a look at you," he said as he continued supporting Hank while the older man slowly sank to a seated position.

"No, no…victim firs'…I, I jus' stood up too quickly 's all," he groaned, blinking his eyes exaggeratedly. "Gimme a sec, uh, second an' I'll be a'right."

"They've almost got her out; we'd just be in the way at this point," Mike said softly feeling a sense of relief that the extrication didn't require additional manpower.

Mike continued to kneel beside his superior as the older man's vision cleared and he regained his level of alertness. Mike had an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach that this minor case of syncope had more to do with the private conversation between Roy, Marco and Hank than with Hank standing up too quickly. He looked back over his shoulder to the place where the rest of the crew were carefully strapping their victim to the backboard, relieved at the echo of an ambulance siren in the background. He then returned his attention to Hank who was quickly regaining his normal coloring and trying to stand.

"Whoa, Cap. Just rest a minute," he encouraged pressing lightly on the older man's shoulder.

"I'm fine now. Like I said, I just stood up too fast. That's all." Hank looked over at his engineer while trying to smile. "Besides, there's still one we can save," he said replacing his helmet. "And I'm not going to stand by and let her die too."

E!

Chet leaned his face into the kitchen sink and splashed water onto his mustache in an attempt to clean off the powdered sugar. With a few drops remaining, he turned to the curious toddler anchored to his leg. He leaned down closer to her face then shook his head from side to side like a waterlogged dog. The squealing laughter that resulted from those few droplets hitting Corrie in the face sounded more beautiful than a symphony to Chet's ears. He laughed along with the little miracle herself.

"You like that, ladybug?"

"Do-gin, do-gin," she asked in her tiny laughing voice.

Without hesitation, he quickly complied and once again showered a few droplets along the child's innocent face. He then smiled at her as her pudgy fingers wiped the residue off her nose. "Ok, does Mr. Chet still have monk on his mustache?" He asked mimicking the child's word for milk.

She reached up, clearly wanting to be held and as soon as Chet had her in his arms, she reached out and softly patted his mustache. "Aw queen," she announced.

"I'm all clean?"

"Uh-hu," she agreed, accented by a nod of her still mused up golden brown bedhead hair.

"What do you want to do now?" He asked, feeling a bit overly confident.

"Hongee," she said with a giggle.

"Are you hungry, ladybug?" He asked, remembering Caroline's instructions that Corrie would only want a banana or something light to eat for breakfast.

"Uh-hu," she confirmed.

"You want a banana?" He asked moving closer to the fruit bowl.

Corrie shook her head negatively sending Chet's stomach flipping with a hint of concern. He quickly looked around for something else healthy for a three year old to eat. Seeing nothing within reach, he decided that filling her belly was more important than nutrition for the next couple of hours and reached for the pastry box.

"You want a donut?"

Again, the defiant tyke shook her head. "Monkey chairs!"

Her squealing voice pierced Chet's ears causing him to scrunch up his shoulders and close his eyes. His blue eyes darted around the kitchen looking for something but not sure what. "Monkey chairs?" He questioned, his face a display of confusion.

"Uh-hu, monkey chairs," she affirmed reaching out once again to pat his mustache.

Chet set her down and began opening cabinets looking for something with a monkey on it. He browsed past cereal boxes, hamburger helper, a bag of rice and cans of various foods but found nothing that could possibly be referred to as a monkey chair. He then opened the refrigerator door hoping there was something in there to appease the child.

Corrie watched her new friend move away from the cabinets and opening the refrigerator door. "Nooo, monkey chairs, Mizzer Fet. Monkey chairs!"

Chet's level of frustration was growing along with Corrie's wails. She tried her best to help him understand what she wanted but he simply didn't speak her language. "Ladybug, I'm sorry but I don't know what you mean." He looked around at the kitchen clock and realized that if he didn't figure this out soon the next hour and a half were going to be miserable for them both.

Finally, Corrie stomped her little bare foot against the tile floor and walked over to the stove. She pointed her tiny finger upwards to the cabinet Chet had just been rummaging through. "Monkey chairs."

"Sweetheart, there's nothing up there like that," he answered. He watched Corrie's bottom lip begin to quiver and large tears were soon dangling from her long eyelashes. His heart couldn't stand it and out of sheer frustration he picked her up and stood her on the counter top. He opened up the cabinet to which she had been pointing. "Ok, ok…are the monkey chairs in here?"

Corrie sniffled a little then giggled as she reached out for the red box of cereal. Chet pulled it from the shelf and she quickly hugged it tightly to her chest. "Mon-key cha-irs," she hiccupped amid giggling sobs.

Chet looked at the red box of cereal with the leprechaun on the front. "Lucky Charms," he mumbled to himself as he pulled down a bowl. "Geesh, I'm worse than Gage…I can't even understand three year old women!"

E!


End file.
